


Rest Your Weary Head

by Roses_and_rain



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Background Enjolras & Combeferre, Background Grantaire & Jehan, Hugs, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-28
Updated: 2019-09-28
Packaged: 2020-10-30 05:29:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20809325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roses_and_rain/pseuds/Roses_and_rain
Summary: Enjolras is the marble statue, and statues don't cry. Enjolras has had a long day.(He still needs a hug sometimes, however loath he is to admit it.)





	Rest Your Weary Head

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "Play the Game" by Queen. Enjoy!

It’s Grantaire who comes out to find Enjolras, because of course it is. He’d hoped to slip away without drawing any of his friends’ attention; there’s no reason they should be called away from the party just because he can’t enjoy it like he should be able to. Like he could, if only his stomach would stop twisting into knots whenever someone approaches him.

It’s not that Enjolras can’t talk to people. He’s good with people, usually, he knows that. He can win them over with the right words, sweep them up in the future he sees so clearly. And these are his friends; talking to them shouldn’t feel like work. But he has a role to play, even with them. The leader in red, the model revolutionary. He’s proud of it, it just takes energy he doesn’t have right this minute. 

They could tell, he knows, at today’s meeting. Everyone was unfocused, unmotivated, even Combeferre. Even Enjolras. In the end they just stopped early and headed to Cosette’s house. 

“We have off days sometimes,” Combeferre had said to him on the drive over, “We’re only human,” and Enjolras knows he’s right. It’s just he was up late last night and the night before and he’s been dragging himself through the day, it’s just nothing got done, it’s just if he spent one more minute in that room full of people and noise he thought he might cry. And he can’t have that. Enjolras is the marble statue, and statues don’t cry. 

So he slipped out into the immense backyard for a minute, to collect himself. He finds a stone bench out of sight of the house. It’s cool and dark there, and he looks up at the scattered stars and tries to steady his breathing. 

Now that he’s away from everyone, though, it’s like a last line of defenses he didn’t know were there have dropped, and he finds that tears have found their way into his eyes despite himself. 

“Stop it,” he mutters, blinking furiously. 

“Sorry?” says a voice behind him. Enjolras turns sharply to find that Grantaire has melted out of the trees like an uncharacteristically quiet dryad. He’s barefoot, and there are leaves in his hair. Enjolras remembers Jehan attaching them carefully earlier.

“What are you doing?” Enjolras says, and Grantaire takes half a step back. Enjolras sighs internally. Possibly there was a less confrontational way to greet him. “I mean - out here?” Grantaire looks a little less alarmed. He shrugs and sits beside Enjolras on the bench.

“Came to check on you,” he says lightly. “See if you needed to vent about the meeting or the world or anything. Although now that I’m thinking about it, you might have needed to vent about a certain obviously brilliant but admittedly unrevolutionary member of our party, in which case I may not be the ideal confidant, so this... wasn’t the best plan. But you seemed stressed, and you were by yourself, and maybe that’s what you needed, actually, but… you get in your head sometimes and forget you have people here for you, so I thought I’d check. So. You good?” Grantaire says most of this to the moon rising in front of them, but as he finishes he turns to look at Enjolras, and something about his expression is so sincere that Enjolras has to look away. 

“I’m -” Enjolras’ voice doesn’t come out right, and he glares at the ground. Clears his throat. “I’m fine.” 

Grantaire doesn’t say anything for long enough that Enjolras glances over at him. His eyebrows express a world of skepticism. 

“I - the meeting was - frustrating, yeah. It wasn’t because of you, mostly, that’s not - we just didn’t get anywhere. Everyone was distracted and I couldn’t... it was a long week, is all, and the party got to be a little much, so…” he gestures vaguely at the dark garden. He doesn’t quite trust his voice to stay steady to the end of the thought. 

Grantaire’s still silent, and Enjolras remembers that when he’d passed the kitchen on the way to the back door, Grantaire had been telling a story to someone, or philosophizing, face alight and hands tracing shapes in the air. He’d looked happy.

“Sorry,” Enjolras says, “You don’t need to listen to this. I’m fine. I’ll be in soon.” There it is again, a tremor in his voice. But he’s held it together. It’s _fine_. He closes his eyes and hopes it’s too dark for Grantaire to see.

“Hey,” Grantaire says softly, and Enjolras feels an arm settle around his shoulders. The night is colder than he'd realized. He turns his face into Grantaire’s shoulder and lets himself be held for a moment. For two. 

He feels at once safer and more fragile. He feels defended, and he doesn’t want to need defending, he wants to be stronger than that, but… for now, it’s nice.

“Thank you,” he says, muffled, into Grantaire’s chest. 

“Anytime.”


End file.
